If I Should Fall From Grace
by Sundowhn
Summary: What happens when a hero is no longer heroic? Kurt Darkholme has lost everyone he loved, his team mates, his world and now he's betrayed his own integrity. What's left of the man? Is there anything remaining inside him that can heal and learn to move on? This is the story of Kurt Darkholme and what might have happened in the aftermath of Uncanny X-Force #34.
1. Chapter 1

_Started December 21__st__, 2012, finished January 11__th__, 2013._

_As usual, I make nothing from this, I do not own the characters or scenarios created by Marvel, etc. _

_This story is about Kurt Darkholme, (AoA Nightcrawler), and is set directly in the aftermath of Uncanny X-Force #34. It is prior to the planned X-Termination crossover event that will feature the character, and leads into it. I was unhappy with how the character was left, so decided to expand on things. Fall from Grace is a kind of follow-up to Kaleidoscope, or at least the epilogue chapter of it. That was where the character of Sydney was introduced. In this story, I wanted to get into Darkholme's head. I wanted to try to shed some light on the dark, cob-webby recesses of his mind. I hope you enjoy it!_

_As always, thanks to Marg and Karl for proof-reading and offering insight. I'm a more confident writer because of you both. The cover image is an adapted piece originally done by the wonderfully talented artist, kimoz._

* * *

_Chapter One_

The smell was over-powering, filling his nostrils and lodging in his throat. It burned his eyes, coating his furred, indigo skin. There was no relief from it, no breeze to disrupt the weight of death in the air. Weakened from fatigue and hunger, Kurt scrabbled to climb the still smoking debris, seeking a higher vantage point. He stood and surveyed the holocaustic scene, his heart thudding dully.

Carnage was everywhere he looked. Twisted steel beams, crushed cement and broken bodies were all that remained of the once modern city – the city where his mother had been living. He stood now where her apartment had been. "Mother!" Kurt's voice rang out over the silent decimation, already hoarse from shouting. "Is anyone left alive?"

He'd laid out the bodies as he found them, unable to bear just leaving them to rot. There were so many, some barely even recognizable as human. Sometimes, that was better, to not have a face to linger in his nightmares. Kurt swallowed hard. The children were the worst. In every small body, he saw the hopelessness of the future. He shook his head, dispelling the image of a round-faced little girl with a scorched yellow ribbon in her hair.

Could he have missed seeing his mother? No, he'd checked them all carefully.

"Hallo! Anyone?" He was certain he heard a faint voice in response this time and he teleported in that direction, hope a tight bud over his heart. "Mother? Can you hear me?" The rustle of black wings was the only reply he received, as a crow took flight with a gruesome red prize in its beak. Undeterred, Kurt pawed through the corpse-littered wreckage, gagging at the offal that covered his hands and arms. His mother was resourceful; if anyone could survive this, it was her. "Is someone there?"

After an indeterminable amount of time – it could have been half an hour, it could have been several hours – he sat back on his haunches, exhaustion finally getting the best of him. Still, his mind repeated the mantra, _"she can't be dead, she can't be dead."_ If he allowed himself to believe she was, it was more than his sanity could stand. He still woke in the night seeking Linda's arms, his pillow wet with tears; he couldn't take losing his mother, too.

Kurt thought back. Had he been searching since yesterday or the day before? He couldn't remember. That's what he got for being perpetually drunk. He'd been alone at the base, in an alcohol induced stupor when he saw the news feed. His team mates had finally stopped trying to include him on any missions of late, and were away. He'd spent the rest of the evening getting here and had been futilely searching since then. He hadn't thought to leave a note.

His vision dimmed, or was it night again? A low hum droned and the air stirred. Lethargically, he looked around, trying to determine what it was. The roving spotlight of an airborne scout brought him fully alert and he quickly looked skyward. Six of them. Hunting. Their massive armored forms eclipsed the sun. Frantically, he looked for a place to hide. _It could be worse_, he told himself, _they could be sentinels, then there would be no hiding from them._ There was little in the way of cover, most of the terrain flattened. It was a matter of seconds before he was spotted. If he teleported, their radar would register it. Seeing no other alternative, he dove into a pile of mangled dead, burrowing underneath them and hoping it would be enough to mask his presence.

Kurt's heart beat wildly, pounding in his ears. To him, it seemed deafening. Surely they would pick up the sound with their tracking equipment. His gorge rose from the stench surrounding him, and he tried to breathe through his mouth so he wouldn't gag and give himself away. Some viscous liquid dripped onto his face and he closed his eyes, waiting for the end.

An eternity later, they were gone, and he saw hazy sunlight again. Slowly, every limb trembling, he extricated himself. Gasping and coughing, he retched, nothing but yellow bile coming up. The world was spinning around him as he lay his head on the ashes whispering, "mother..."

"_Shhh...just rest..."_

Soft humming filled his ears, some song he couldn't quite remember. _Vas?_ Kurt opened his eyes, taking in the sight of ugly floral pinstripes. Linda had chosen the wallpaper, and he hadn't had the heart to tell her it was hideous. Linda! He felt for her next to him in bed and found emptiness. Panic rose in him until he heard the unmistakable clink of the coffee pot in the kitchen. The sound soothed him. _Home. I'm home._ It had all been a bad dream. Muzzily, he ran his hand through dark, curly hair and yawned. _Ach_, what a nightmare. Running his tongue over his teeth, he made a face. He couldn't give his wife a kiss with breath like that.

He wandered into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, ambling into the adjoining room once he'd finished his morning toiletries. It was dark. _Why is it so dark? _Kurt peered around in sleepy confusion and tried the wall switch. Nothing. "Linda?" Silence. "Liebling?" Had she been to the market this morning already? It smelled like a butcher's block in here.

Shadows played on the walls of the open living room, forming distorted shapes, seeming to rise monstrously over him. Annoyed with the feeling, Kurt jerked the curtains open and felt his knees buckle underneath him. Those weren't shadows, they were splashes of blood. Memory flooded back in an over-whelming wave. Linda's death at the hands of Fred Dukes. The silent, accusing apartment. _Why weren't you here?_ He heard her ghost whispering in the dark watches of the night, sometimes. He could hear it now. Kurt covered his ears, squeezing his eyes shut and sobbing. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...I swear, I've made him pay for vhat he did to you..."

A breeze fluttered the torn curtains and he felt his cheek gently brushed by them. _"Shhh...it's all right now..."_ The voice touched him with the weight of a sigh.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to scorching heat as he met Bobby's pleading stare. Bobby, his friend. Bobby, the only one he'd been unable to drive away, the one who kept him sane through everything that had happened. "Just one more chance, Kurt, I swear I'll change...Please!" his voice ended in a pain-filled shriek as the blaze licked away at him. _Nein_, no more chances for Bobby. Flames leapt around them both, and Kurt backed slowly away. No more chances for him, either. Fire filled Kurt's eyes, as he watched his friend breathe his last, then burning pain seared through his belly, ripping him open. E.V.A. stood over him. "Whatever ethical fiber you imagine yourself made of, it's a lie. You are a selfish coward!" Kurt shrank from her knowing gaze. _Nein_, he was no coward! Unrelenting in the face of his reasons, she damned him eternally with her eyes as he teleported away. _What does she know? She's a robot, how could she ever understand my pain?_

Kurt shivered in bed with a fever, clutching a ragged toy rabbit to his chest. Its one remaining button eye caught a glint of moonlight. He was a little boy again, and his mother gently brushed his hair back with her fingers, humming softly in the darkness. He could only see her silhouette, but the touch was so cool to his burning face..._"Shhh, you'll be okay..."_

Fire rained down around him, and Apocalypse stood over his mother, ready to destroy her. No, not his mother, but too like her for him to ignore. _Not this time!_ With no thought to the consequences, he wrapped his arms around her and got them both out of there before death could steal her away from him again.

He breathed a sigh of relief. He'd found her in time and she was safe. It was over, it was time to...

_What was that song she'd used to sing to me?_ The refrain echoed in his mind.

_Um das Fenster weht der Wind,__  
__Fährmann wacht im Hafen,__  
__Steige in das Schiff, mein Kind,__  
__Du musst schlafen, schlafen._

_Niemand weiss, wohin er fährt,__  
__Du bist wohl geborgen,__  
__Niemand ahnt, wie lang es währt,__  
__Was wird morgen, morgen._

Kurt swayed unsteadily on his feet, dizzy from blood loss. _Nein_, this wasn't his mother, only her Doppelgänger. Funny that. _It would be so easy to..._He tried to make sense of her words. She was thanking him, asking him to stay. _Stay? _ _I don't belong here, how can I stay? _The rest of what she said was hazy, muddled. He finally walked away from her in the rain, assuring her he'd be fine, he'd had worse wounds.

He stumbled into the night, letting the downpour wash the blood from his face and cool his brow. _Home. I have to get home._ Darkness etched his vision, then he was falling through the shadows, falling _into_ the shadows that had come alive. The ghosts that gibbered to him in his dreams were waiting, ready to take him with them. Ready for their own vengeance. Some faces were more familiar than his own, and beloved. Some he barely remembered.

They surrounded him, their bloody lips pressed to his flesh, and they tangled sinuously around his arms and legs, holding him fast. Kurt struggled, thrashing futilely. "Stay avay from me! I did vhat I had to do!" His breath came in ragged gasps and his flesh burned where the shadows caressed him. "Don't you understand?! _I had no choice!" _Madness was taking hold._ "Bitte!"_

Incongruously, singing invaded his consciousness again, soft and lilting. His unstable mind seized on it, grasped it close. The ghostly touch to his face was cool and soothing, the face behind it a backlit blur. It seemed to go on and on, fighting off the smouldering shadows bent on destroying him. After a time, Kurt felt himself drifting and free. Was this how death felt then? It wasn't so bad.

The familiar clink of a coffee pot awoke him. Refusing to look on the nightmare again, Kurt inhaled deeply. No blood, just coffee and ...bacon? _Ja._ That was it. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes and gazed up at an unfamiliar high ceiling in a strange room. Faded blue walls, a chair in the corner under the window, a scarred dresser on the far side of the room – where was he? He ran his hand over the quilt covering him as he lay on a wrought iron framed bed. Quietly, so he wouldn't alert whoever else might be around to his lucid state, he sat up and put his feet over the edge. He groaned and clutched his bandaged abdomen as lights danced behind his eyes. _Ach! _

"You shouldn't try to get up just yet." Footsteps heralded the approach of his host.

Kurt looked on the ghost with incomprehension. "Sydney?" He whispered. Maybe he'd lost his mind, after all.

The woman nodded and moved to help him. "Really, let me help you. I don't want you pulling out those stitches." He looked at the mottled, rust-colored patterns that marked her as a mutant, starkly visible on her dusky skin. He remembered every one. He remembered the directness of her dark-eyed gaze, even as a child, though this was a woman. Her touch on his arm was cool and firm, reassuring him that she was flesh and blood.

Kurt allowed himself to be fussed over as his mind raced, trying to determine how he got here. He hadn't the faintest idea, but at least she wasn't a ghost. She was this world's version of a childhood friend that he'd tracked down weeks ago, to help him find one of his targets. That was the last time he'd seen her. Sydney was a mutant whose talents included psychometry and some deep diagnostic sense, but why was he here now?

"Not that I'm not grateful, _Fräulein_, but how exactly did I get here?"

"Beats the hell out of me. You were mostly dead on my doorstep when I got home from work. That was four days ago." She eyed him.

_Four days!_ "Do you often take mostly dead strangers into your bed?" His intended sarcasm was lost in the weak sound of his own voice.

She put a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow. "Only when they've lying there like a stuck pig and bleeding all over my front steps. Besides, you aren't exactly a stranger, are you?"

Kurt gazed at her, his lips tightening.

"You showed up in my clinic a couple of months ago, remember?" She sat on the edge of the bed. "I may as well take a look at you, since you're awake." She chattered on, probably trying to put him at ease. "You gave me a pretty good scare, burning up with fever until last night." Gently, she loosened the adhesive tape and probed his belly. A soft, almost hypnotizing light moved under her skin, turning the discolorations a warm amber. Kurt watched, momentarily forgetting his predicament, then winced and dug a fang into his lower lip when she touched a tender spot. "Not bad, looks like the infection is clearing up. Your blood count is coming back up, too. You're lucky whatever stuck you missed the important stuff." She reattached the gauze. "Roll over, let me take a look at your back." He complied, grunting with the effort. She was careful, and worked slowly, but it was still agonizing. Damn, the woman was torturing him! Kurt grunted and gripped the pillow to keep from making any further noise.

"I think you'll live," she finally pronounced, standing up.

With effort, he moved so he could look at her again. "_Danke_, for your help," he finally managed to mutter. He was still waiting on the questions. How did it happen? Who did it? None were forthcoming.

"You're welcome. Feel like you could eat something? You look like barely more than skin and bones."

He nodded and watched her as she left the room.

* * *

_***Schlafe ein_- Zarah Leander

_The wind is blowing around the window,__  
__Ferryman guards the harbor,__  
__Get on the ship, my child,__  
__You have to sleep, sleep._

_No one knows where he (the ferryman) goes,__  
__You are well kept,__  
__Nobody knows how long it lasts,__  
__What will be tomorrow, tomorrow._


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Humming under her breath, Sydney finished preparing breakfast. The wounded man in the bedroom dominated her thoughts. Who was he, really? What kind of man was he? Who did such a thing to him? She'd picked up images over the past few days when she touched him, colorless and fragmentary, like flickering 8mm film. It was a side-effect of her abilities, and beyond her control to shut out, no matter how much she might want to. There had been so much horror there, and some of what she'd seen made no sense whatsoever. It was like something from a science fiction movie. A robot with a knife as an arm? A desolate, bombed-out world? Death and pain. It had been everywhere. Sometimes her unusual guest had been on the receiving end, but often, he'd been the one dealing it out. There was certainly enough conflict in the world – she saw it on the news every night – but nothing to compare to those stark, haunting images caught up in his fevered mind. She shook her head to dispel the memory and wondered again if she'd been foolish to get involved.

She'd always had a near compulsion to help, it didn't matter who or what it was. Beverly, her friend from work, said it was like she went around asking for trouble. A wry smile tugged at Sydney's lips as she remembered one of their talks about it.

"Girl, what is with you? Don't you know folks in the world will _use_ your ass?" Beverly stood with one fist firmly planted on her meaty hip.

Sydney was used to Bev's vocal opinions. She shrugged. "Some might, I guess, but others maybe need a little help to get over a rough patch."

"Mmhmm...rough patch? More like they walking, talking rough patches." Bev shook her head. "Why do you care anyway? You get so wrapped up in these folks, then go crying 'cause snakes are gonna be snakes and bums are gonna be bums."

"I do not! It's not like I set out trying to fix anybody..."

"Oh yes you do."

"No" Sydney replied firmly, "I just believe in giving people a chance to, you know, improve things. No one's a lost cause, not if they don't want to be, and nobody is completely bad or..." She held her hands palm upwards while she searched for what she was trying to say. "I don't know...a waste. Sometimes, a person just needs a hand."

"So you give them both. Don't go trying to put a different spin on things - not to me. You may as well stick a _kick me_ note on your back, the way you act."

Maybe Bev had a point. She did get pretty emotionally invested in things that other people often just ignored. Perhaps it was part and parcel of her powers. How could she possibly ignore the real story behind the misery? To Sydney, the grainy pictures her mind saw when her fingertips brushed another person were just as real as their physical presence. The people she saw daily as a nurse in the low-income health clinic where she worked in New Orleans were so much more than their problems. That brutal dealer shouting obscenities while he bled from a knife wound had a little son at home that he was desperate to make a better life for. The prostitute with HIV from last week had a mind filled with images of an elderly woman raising her child – a child she was no longer allowed to see.

It was no different with people Sydney met on the street. A homeless derelict, reeking of rum in a back alley, lost his wife and two kids in a car wreck. The scruffy woman begging for change in front of the post office was trapped in the paranoia of her disease. Even starving stray dogs and bad-tempered, wretched old tom-cats were fair game. It didn't matter. She couldn't help but feel for them. She smiled down at Juno, purring as he wove himself in and out around her ankles. He meowed plaintively up at her, hoping for a hand-out.

Maybe, too, it stemmed from the fact that she'd never been able to help her own mother. Years of drug abuse and a rough, vagrant life-style had made Geneva St. James old by the time she was thirty. She'd had precious little inclination to worry over her strange looking child, and by the time Sydney was twelve, she was the adult of the household. She remembered nights spent in the dark house – dark because the power bill hadn't been paid – waiting on her mother to stumble through the door. Hoping she would, terrified that she might be dead on the street somewhere, and then Sydney would truly have been all alone in the world. If her mother had known the name of the man who fathered her daughter, she didn't say. There had certainly been plenty to choose from.

Even then, anger had warred with love in Sydney's heart. Knowing what drove her mother, what had destroyed her for all practical purposes, and being able to do something about it were two different things.

Geneva had died years ago, alone in a cheap motel room, the needle still dangling from her arm when the maid found her. Her mother had been hard-eyed and unremorseful about her choices until the very end. Their last conversation was a testament to that. Sydney had still been in nursing school at the time, on scholarship.

"Mom, just let me help you. I talked to my professor, and he knows this great doctor who specializes in addiction. It's a free program and..."

Geneva cut her off. "Look, enough with your do-gooder shit! I ain't got no problem, okay? I just need a little pick-me-up every now and then. You understand." She'd smiled then, her skeletal face with eyes sunken into deep holes transformed into something even more ghastly by it. She patted Sydney's hand, as if she were a co-conspirator. An image of Geneva fighting with a john over whose turn it was for a hit flickered into focus, then was gone.

"This stuff doesn't pick you up. It's killing you."

Her mother had turned nasty then, all pretense of affection gone. Her mouth curled into a sneer. "What the hell do you care? It's your damn fault I'm this way! What do you think it was like for me, raising a goddamn freak?! You think anyone was gonna give me a chance, once they saw you? I coulda got rid of you, but I didn't, did I?"

The words sank their fangs into Sydney's heart, re-opening the unhealed wounds there. She'd been hearing the same ones her whole life. "I know, I know. Mama, I can't help the way I was born. You know I'll always be grateful for..."

"If you're so grateful, then piss off and leave me be. I got some partying to do." Geneva took a long drink of beer, not looking at her daughter.

She'd died the same way she lived – angry and hopeless, trying to numb the pain of a wasted life. Sydney forcibly shifted her thoughts away, and they returned to the wreck of a man she'd been so hell bent on keeping alive the past days.

Generally speaking, her compassionate nature didn't extend to bringing anyone into her home. It was her safe place, peaceful and sacrosanct. Well, no one other than the cat, she mentally amended. Frankly, she hadn't had much choice in regards to the mysterious Mr. Darkholme. It was either drag him inside or call someone to pick him up like so much garbage. She couldn't stomach that thought, especially considering the recent wave of prejudice and violence directed towards mutants.

Sydney didn't know what had happened. For the past couple of years, mutants had seemed like a dying breed. Seeing another one had been extremely rare, and, while the suspicion and bigotry she'd known all her life was still present, it was bearable. Apparently normal humans felt safe as long as mutant numbers were almost nonexistent. Then suddenly, after watching the news open-mouthed as the infamous X-Men fought America's heroes, the Avengers, new ones started popping up all over the place. They were everywhere, and the fear and paranoia of the rest of the world was rising in relation to it.

It was a difficult time to be a mutant, especially one unable to hide the fact. Even the people Sydney had seen around the Quarter for years were looking at her differently these days. She'd had a close call on the walk home from work a few weeks ago when some local boys had decided it might be fun to play around a bit. They'd taken turns shoving her between them, keeping her off balance. Her attempts to reason with them had been lost in malicious laughter, but the epithet directed at her hurt worse than their man-handling. "Filthy mutie bitch! Things would be better if all you people were dead!" A street cop had looked on, sipping his coffee with a bemused expression.

No, there was no way she would have called the authorities to deal with that poor, injured man. He'd been pleasant enough when she first met him, charming even, though she could tell he'd wanted something from her. If she was honest, she'd thought about him quite a few times since then, and the strange way he'd looked at her. It had been sad and...searching. Yes, that was the word.

Absently, she took biscuits out of the oven and buttered them, adding to the rapidly filling tray she planned to take into the bedroom.

Her reaction to finding him nearly bled out, delirious with fever and propped against her front door, had been visceral. He _would_ live, she refused to have it any other way. She'd bodily hauled him inside and laid him out on the kitchen floor. The strange outfit he'd been wearing presented her first obstacle, as the fabric resisted being cut, but she'd persevered. The horror of just how bad his injuries were was still fresh in her mind.

He'd been impaled by some sharp object, that was clear. Infection had already set up in the wound and there was dried blood as well as fresh, so it had happened at least a day or so before. The flesh was swollen and the jagged openings oozed a mix of blood and pus. The smell alone had been awful. His incoherent cries of pain wrapped around her soul, squeezing tightly. She'd worked for over two hours trying to clear the wounds and close them. Mercifully, he'd passed out about halfway through. By sheer force of will, she managed to pull him to the bed afterwards and hoist him on it. He wasn't especially heavy, but he was dead weight and was larger than her by a fair margin.

She'd done her best to clean him up, and had been shocked at the number of scars she discovered in the process. Wherever this man was from, he'd obviously had a difficult and violent life. The smooth, velvety skin was mottled with a history of battles. Some were small, just gashes long healed. Then some were terrible to contemplate, like the crisscrossing lines etched into his shoulders or what looked like burns partially ringing his neck and one forearm. The tattoo over his left eye hid another scar, splitting his eyebrow. There were so many. They were all over him. What had this man done to deserve such treatment? Could anyone _ever _deserve these things? Sydney didn't think so.

She'd taken his hand then, and held it in both of hers. It was as strange-looking as the rest of him, with only two fingers and a thumb. What was it like to go through life looking this different? She knew what it felt like to be marked as a mutant, but this? She couldn't imagine. She ran her thumb over his knuckles. They'd been broken more than once. The fur on the back of his hands wasn't as dense as elsewhere, and the texture of it was soothing to touch. His fingers were proportionally long, the thick, somewhat pointed nails reminiscent of claws. An image flashed through her mind of this hand gently patting a little boy's face. Charles? Had that been his name?

Then the fever had ratcheted up, hovering between 103-104. Chills made him quake and he fought against the covers she piled over him, like they were the enemy. Just before dawn, when he'd settled into a restless quiet, she'd fallen into a doze by the bedside only to be awakened by sobbing. Sydney had smoothed back his hair and hummed softly, trying to quiet him. He'd clung to her like a child and babbled in German to someone only he could see.

The days and nights since had been repetitions of the same thing. Nursing her third cup of coffee this morning, Sydney rubbed her gritty, exhausted eyes. At least he seemed over the worst of it, now. It was a very good thing she had sick days saved up. She finished in the kitchen and carried the breakfast tray to him.

Kurt Darkholme lay propped up on the bed, regarding her coolly, perhaps defensively. It was a far cry from the helpless man she'd become accustomed to. Even injured, his awareness felt like it dominated the room. His face was a studied blank and difficult to read. Those baleful red eyes drew her in and caught her. For all the world, she felt like an insect trapped in bloody amber, held there for his leisurely perusal. It didn't sit well with her, but she ignored it and forced herself to smile and make conversation. She could handle haughty patients well enough.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I cooked the works. Hope you're hungry."

He gazed at the food with an air of disinterest. "Cereal vould have been fine."

"Maybe, but you need something with a little more substance to get your strength back."

"As you like." Dismissively, he started to eat, ignoring her presence.

Uncertain, Sydney sat down on the chair under the window and waited. "How are you feeling?"

"No different than I did half an hour ago."

"What I meant was, do you need anything for pain? Never mind, I'll get you some Tylenol." She moved to rise but he stopped her with an abrupt "It's unnecessary, I'm fine."

"Mmhmm, tough guy, huh? Suit yourself." He didn't bother to look up from his meal at her flippant remark. It almost felt like he'd erected some kind of invisible barrier to shut her out. Sydney tried to think of something to say to ease the tension, but came up blank. Damn, he was a hard one!

"Look, it's none of my business what happened to you..."

"_Nein_, it isn't," Kurt interrupted.

She hesitated and started again. "but I was wondering if there was anyone you wanted me to call."

He looked at her briefly, his face blank and cold. "There's no one."

Nodding, she stood up. "I'll leave you to your breakfast, then." Silence followed her from the room.

* * *

Sydney wrapped her arms around her waist and tried to regroup her thoughts. It was disturbing how unsettled and frankly irritated she'd been by that little conversation. She didn't know what she'd expected from him, some form of gratitude maybe? Certainly not such cold indifference, as if she bothered him by being in the same room.

She'd encountered many people in her life, especially given her line of work, but none that seemed quite so...well, hollow. It was like he had the form of a living person, but the eyes that stared back at her were soulless and dead. She shivered and tried to remember the scars, the flickering images she'd seen of what haunted him. She swallowed her annoyance. She'd just have to try harder.

The rest of the day went much the same way. His replies, when he bothered giving them at all, were brusque or waspish and offered nothing. When she changed his bandages later in the day, he'd fought to make no sound, though she knew he had to be in pain. What he clearly wanted was to be left alone, so that's what she did.

It was getting late, and Sydney decided it should probably be safe for her to stretch out on the couch tonight, rather than sleeping in the chair. She went into the bedroom to gather a pillow and blanket and check on her patient one final time. He was sleeping.

She studied him. He lay on his side, facing the far wall. He was curled with his right arm bent and his hand clenched into a fist near his chin. His tail had slipped from under the blanket, and dangled to the floor behind him, twitching even in slumber. It reminded her of Juno. The harsh lines of his face were relaxed now, and his lips were parted. The sound of his breathing wasn't quite a snore, but close. Quietly, so as not to disturb him, she finished what she needed to do.

When Sydney turned to leave, he was watching her, still in the same position. She smiled and he looked away, shifting to lie on his back.

"I'll be in the next room. If you need anything, just give a shout."

"I von't. Need anything, that is." His voice was a tired growl.

She sighed and stood next to the bedside. "Look, it's pretty clear you've been through hell, but I'm not your enemy, okay?"

"If you vere, you vould simply have left me to die, _ja?_" A derisive hint of a smile touched his thin lips.

"Probably. You're safe here, you know."

"Is there really any such thing as safe, _Fräulein? _You're foolish if you believe so."

"I like to think there is." Her brows knitted as she looked down at him. He looked like a man with nothing left to hope for. She swallowed and added softly, "I'm sorry for what's happened to you. No one deserves something like that."

Slowly, he tilted his face up to look at her, the glint in his eyes the only thing to betray his anger. She had his attention now.

"Vhat do you know of vhat I deserve?"

It took all of her will power to not step back from the hostility he radiated. She probably should have though, because in the next instant, his hand snaked out impossibly fast and grasped her arm in a vice-like grip.

"Who else knows I'm here?" His tone was unmistakably threatening.

"I..." Sydney was at a loss for words, shocked at this sudden turn. The small bones of her wrist ground together and she gritted her teeth.

He pulled her closer, the wiry strength of his arm apparently undiminished by his recent ordeal. His voice was a low purr and his breath hot on her face when he asked, "Und vhat do you know of vhat's happened to me?"

She didn't try to pull away. In her experience, that only made things worse. Try and diffuse this, she thought. Recovering herself as much as possible, she gazed openly into his hard eyes and answered, "No one knows you're here, not unless they saw you before I got home. As far as what happened to you...maybe you talk in your sleep?" Her attempted levity was wasted and his eyes narrowed. Sydney decided honesty might be best. "I'm a mutant, you know that. One of the things with my powers is that I sometimes pick stuff up, random images, I guess." She tried to downplay it. "I know you seem to come from a pretty rough place and you've been through a lot."

Had she gambled wrong? Made things worse? He didn't loosen his hold. She realized starkly that there was no one to help her, if she'd made a mistake. She continued, talking as much to herself now, as to him. "The world can be a pretty crappy place sometimes. You try your best to do what's right and protect the people you care about, but it doesn't always work. Bad things happen. It isn't your fault, it's just the way things are. What matters is that you don't lose yourself in the anger, or the guilt, and if you do, you don't decide to stay lost."

She felt his sigh, as much as heard it. It was a defeated sound. Kurt's gaze slowly let go of her own, and he released her arm, resting his hand again on the bed. He didn't look at her now. "You have my apologies, if I frightened you. It vas uncalled for."

Sydney nodded, rubbing circulation back into her hand. His fingerprints still stood out on her wrist. "It's okay. You get some freebies, since you almost died and all." She offered a playful, if slight, smile. "Try to get some rest."

Her heart was still pounding by the time she lay down on the couch. She was beyond exhausted, but sleep was a long time in coming. Sometime, during the darkest part of night, she awoke to the sound of soft sobbing.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

Kurt slept restlessly as a lazy afternoon sun shone through the curtains on him. It made the room feel stuffy and close. He threw the covers off without waking, his body covered in a film of sweat. Once again, he was trapped in pain-induced dreams.

He was running through a network of tunnels, leading a covert operation to infiltrate one of the bases used by a branch of the Infinites. They were the ones responsible for the cullings that had devastated the northeastern portion of America. He could hear Kyle and Rahne following closely behind. Jubilee and Shiro were waiting on the surface. So far, they'd gotten the job done with minimal injuries, and Kurt wanted to keep it that way. A series of HMX explosives were planted and set to be remote detonated in less than seven minutes.

A muted explosion rocked the rooms above, and dusty debris rained down on them. Damn! Had that been one of theirs? Kurt hoped not. It could well start a chain-reaction, if it was. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard nothing further. They still had time. He tried to get his bearings and determine how far underground they still were. If his calculations were correct, it was roughly four miles down and south-east of the rest of the team's position. The passageway was sloping steadily upwards. If they kept moving at this speed, he'd be within teleportation range in three and a half minutes, give or take. Alone, he might be able to teleport above ground from here, though it would be difficult, but with two passengers it was impossible. They had to hurry.

There was the unmistakable sound of infantry up ahead, now. How had they been found so fast? He yelled a warning over his shoulder and barreled forward, swords drawn. Teleporting behind the genetically engineered soldiers as soon as they came into view, he cut a bloody swath through them. Suddenly, he felt the gossamer threads of an inhibitor net settle over him, designed not only to restrain an individual, but also neutralize mutant abilities. The thin threads were made from a near unbreakable titanium alloy. It effectively trapped him in the middle of his enemies.

"Take him alive, the boss wants test subjects!" Kurt heard the order barked out behind him.

"Get out now! _Schnell!_" He shouted to the others. The net hadn't yet synched tight enough to fully immobilize him, and he used his shoulder to knock one of the men to the ground, swinging his elbow to catch another in the jaw. The fact that this was close quarters worked to his advantage.

Rahne's reply carried over the fray, "We're nae leavin' ye!"

"I said go, girl, that's an order!"

He was preparing to pull the trigger on the "no prisoners" grenade they all carried. It had been determined that death was preferable to risking a trip to the harvesting pens of Doctor McCoy, also known as the Beast. Perhaps he could buy his friends some time.

Unfortunately, one of the men saw what he was about, first. "He's got a charge!"

The shock feature of the net was employed and Kurt found himself writhing on the ground, helpless to do anything. Had Rahne and Kyle gotten away? He couldn't tell amidst the chaos.

His mind struggled to wake up, now, to escape the memories. He thrashed, moaning in frustration, but the dream still held him fast.

He heard the rough voice of someone leaning down, very near his face. "Fight's gone from this one." _The hell you say,_ Kurt thought. He struggled and snarled, head butting the man, and felt another of them tackle him, holding him down. The man's Kevlar covered arm was pressed over his nose and mouth and Kurt started seeing spots before his eyes from lack of oxygen.

A weight pressing against his face finally brought him to the surface of consciousness. It was warm and soft, but partially covered his nose. Someone _was_ trying to smother him! He jerked open his eyes and recoiled as he met iridescent yellow ones only inches away. Battle instinct, honed from long years of struggle and sharpened by the nightmare, made him spring into action. He leapt backwards from the bed, intending to land in a crouch. "_Aauugh..." _Kurt moaned, clutching his gut. He'd felt something pull loose when he moved. He also hadn't counted on just how weak he was. His shaking legs dumped him unceremoniously on his backside with a thud.

A scruffy grey cat with a ragged ear watched him contemptuously from the bed, lying on his pillow.

"What happened?!" Sydney rushed in the room, her eyes large. "Did you fall out of bed?"

"_Nein!_ I did not fall out of bed!" Kurt roared at her from his position on the floor. "That damnable beast was trying to suffocate me in my sleep!" He pointed to the contentedly purring cat.

Her mouth twitched as she swallowed a chuckle. "He's just used to sleeping in the bed. He wouldn't hurt you, he's a sweetie."

"_Es geht mir auf den Sack."_ Kurt muttered, curling his tail around his feet and trying to force his head to stop spinning. He was in pain and felt ridiculous.

She leaned down and grasped him under the arm, helping him to rise. "C'mon, back to bed with you. Shoo, Juno." Gratefully, Kurt collapsed on the soft bed, groaning. Sydney propped the pillows behind him and covered him again, putting the back of her hand to his forehead to check for fever.

"Stop touching me!" He growled, swatting at her.

She held her hands up in mock surrender. "Fine, not touching. But you're warm again, so I'm going to get you something for it."

"I don't need..."

She turned on her heel and walked away before he could finish the sentence. As soon as she was out of the room, he heard the sound of muffled laughter.

* * *

By the next day, he was starting to feel somewhat better. The rest and food seemed to be helping, as well as the antibiotics Sydney had procured from somewhere or another. Speak of the devil, here she was, smiling brightly and yes, trying to feed him again. _Ach!_

"Here you go, I brought..."

"I'm not hungry."

"All right, well at least drink something."

"Vhy? I'm not thirsty, either."

"Because you lost a lot of blood. I couldn't get an IV set-up from work without questions, so we're stuck rehydrating you the hard way. Your urine output is still cloudy and too low."

"Do ve have to talk about my bodily functions so casually?"

Sydney shrugged. "Then we need to see about getting you cleaned up and those sheets changed. I think they might be able to stand up by themselves about now."

"Don't you have anything better to do?" he asked in exasperation.

"Nope. I took some time off from work. I don't have to be back until Wednesday."

"Goody."

"Glad to see your enthusiasm." She grinned. "Drink up."

It was maddening. No matter what he did, or how surly he was, she just wouldn't _go away_. Not that he wanted her to completely, of course, he was still too weak, but damn it all... He thought he'd adequately made his point regarding the kind of man he was the night before last when he'd interrogated her about what she knew. He'd clearly seen the fear that shadowed her eyes at the time, but no, not Sydney. Here she still was, unfailingly pleasant and solicitous of him, forever cheerful in the face of his dogmatic cynicism. He frowned, musing to himself. She'd always been that way, hadn't she? Able to lure him from the blackest temper as a boy. She could even make his mother laugh. _Nein!_ This was _not_ the same girl he grew up with! The slip put him in an even fouler mood. He drank his juice and glared at her as she tidied the room, chattering on about the coming holidays.

"The Christmas lights in the Quarter are gorgeous, you should see them. All the balconies are strung. And the tree set up in the French Market is massive! The carolers will start coming out soon. We should be able to hear them up here with the windows open."

"I do not celebrate Christmas." Kurt said in annoyance.

"Why am I not surprised?" She chuckled. "That's okay, I'll enjoy it for both of us."

"Vhat's the point of it? It's a vaste of time und money. People eat too much, drink too much and spend too much."

"It's fun. It's the one day of the year where people put aside their differences and celebrate life, or at least it should be."

"That hasn't happened in my..." Kurt hesitated. "Vhere I'm from, no one has the time for such frivolities."

"Well, you're here, now. You've got plenty of time on your hands at the moment, don't you?"

Frustrated, Kurt was unable to think of an appropriately scathing reply to shut her up.

"So how about that bath?"

"Fine. Do I at least get some sort of apparel once I'm clean? I've had enough of vearing your bed sheet."

"Sure, I picked you something up when I went to the market earlier." She handed him a folded pair of lounge pants.

"I'll need some scissors to..." he poked his finger through an already hemmed hole cut for his tail. "Never mind," he muttered.

"All right, up you go." Draping his right arm over her shoulders to support him, they walked slowly to the bathroom. He clutched the sheet tightly around his waist with his free hand.

He saw the plastic stool she'd put into the tiled shower and gave a small sigh of relief. He didn't think he'd be able to stand for long. He was dizzy and even such a short walk left him out of breath. When she took down the nozzle and turned on the tap, it became apparent she wasn't planning on going anywhere. There was no way in _hell_ he was going to sit here and be bathed like a child!

Snatching the nozzle from her he growled, "I do not need your assistance!"

"I'm a nurse. I do stuff like this all the time, it's no big deal."

"_Ja_, vell it's a big deal to me. I'd prefer some privacy in my bath."

"Mmhmm. Mr. Darkholme, I've seen what you've got. Who do you think's been cleaning your bed pan?"

Kurt glowered at her, angry and more than a little embarrassed. He said through gritted teeth, "I can manage on my own, _danke Fräulein_."

"Suit yourself. Call me when you're done." She closed the door behind her. A full half hour later, and he finally managed to finish washing.

* * *

** _Es geht mir auf den Sack – he's a pain in the ass(though "Sack" can refer to balls as well)_


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

Kurt was deemed recovered enough to graduate to the living room couch. It was none too soon, as far as he was concerned. Having nothing to do but stare at the bedroom walls or sleep was driving him insane. Without anything to occupy him, he spent much of his time in slumber. It wasn't the healing, restive kind, though. Every time he shut his eyes, the nightmares came. He'd wake feeling drained and empty. He tried to force himself to remain alert, but his body demanded rest. Sydney had brought him a variety of books and magazines for distraction, but his head still ached too much to concentrate on them for long.

At the moment, he lay stretched out on the sofa, covered in an afghan and flipping through television channels. Sydney was grocery shopping, so he was on his own for the next hour or two. Finally, he could stop feeling so...so...what? Not alone? He supposed that was it. "_Ja_, peace und quiet, that's vhat I need," he said out loud. "No one to bother me, und ask foolish questions like how do I feel. How does she _think_ I feel?" The cat blinked at him owlishly from a perch on the arm of the chair. They eyed one another for a long moment. "You, go avay!" He snarled as he threw a pillow at the creature and watched in satisfaction as it ran.

Now he didn't have a pillow. _Verdammt. _

He looked around. The apartment was smaller than he'd first thought. Tiny really. It was comprised of a living room with an attached kitchette. A glass door led to a balcony in the back, with the front door directly across the room. The one bedroom with an adjoining bath was situated off from the kitchen.

It was an old building with uneven, waxed wooden floors and high, drafty ceilings. The furniture was well-used and serviceable. Kurt's eyes roamed over the few photographs Sydney had sitting out. One of was of her with a dark-skinned, heavy-set woman nearing middle age. They both wore nurse's scrubs. A co-worker, perhaps? There was a snapshot of the damn cat with a ribbon around its neck. Then there was one of a pretty young woman in a sailor dress, smiling wistfully at the camera, and another of the same woman, only a little older, holding Sydney as a child. Her mother? There was some resemblence. The woman's skin was more honey-colored, rather than the pale, _caf_-_au_-_lait_ of Sydney's complexion, and her features were broader, but the expression was the same, doe-eyed and open.

He'd never met his Sydney's mother. It seemed a sore subject, and not one she talked much about. She'd only said her grandmother decided to raise her. He wondered if Clara had featured prominently in her life in this world, as well.

A Christmas tree blinked with multi-colored lights to his left, set up on a table under the window. It was a small, sad little thing – like a scraggly shrub that had aspirations to be a Christmas tree, but she'd decorated it prettily. Glittering ornaments, some hand made it looked like, with popcorn garland. Kurt hated the sight of it. If he felt better, he'd toss it out the window.

Christmas should be a celebration of life – _ja_, what did he have to celebrate, then? Almost everyone he'd ever loved was dead. All the holiday did was dredge up the ghosts of Christmas past.

His memories were probably no different than those of others. None were earth-shatteringly dramatic, unusual or in any way spectacular. They were just memories of a man - one who had loved and been loved in return. They were from a time when he belonged somewhere, when he'd had a home and a family. It was a time before he'd become whatever was left.

Linda had loved the season. She'd always insisted on a huge tree with all the trimmings. He could still see her draping anything and everything in garland. Even their bed hadn't been exempt from it. She'd drag him off to parties wearing a ridiculous Santa hat, and giggling at the expression on his face. In his memory, he saw her smiling at him from under the mistletoe and a song sprang to his mind, unbidden.

_Ho ho the mistletoe  
Hung where you can see  
Somebody waits for you  
Kiss her once for me_

If only he could.

He'd been roped every year into playing one of Santa's elves for Eric and Rogue's son, the reward of the boy's infectious laughter making the indignity of it worthwhile. He could still hear Charles' voice, following in behind him like an echo, "Uncle Kurt, do the 'porting piggy back!" Kurt sighed. He'd had to be the one to tell Rogue that her little son was dead.

He recalled chaotic Christmas Eve parties at the mansion. The X-Men had been such an integral part of his life and how he defined himself for so long, he felt like an orphan without them. He could still see all their faces so clearly, as if he could reach out and touch them. Who was he now, with them gone?

He thought about Sydney, this stranger who wasn't a stranger and had been caring for him. _Mausi._ From the first day she'd arrived at the old farmhouse when he was a boy, he called her "little mouse" for her bright black eyes and habit of watching him so closely. The woman had the same habit as the girl. That wasn't all she had in common with her younger self, either. The timbre of her voice was more mature, but the cadence was the same. Her personality was a mix of whimsical and compassionate that encouaraged trust and openness. He had to fight not to respond to it, and fall into old patterns. Her directness was all too familiar, and she moved the same way his Sydney had – the body language an exact replica. Kurt sighed. Her hair even smelled the same, some musky spice that was her natural fragrance. Was it as soft as his Sydney's dark hair had been? He scowled, shaking his head. What was he thinking? As with meeting this world's version of his mother, it was easy to keep the past separated from the present in theory, but much more difficult in practice.

He tried to think of something else, _anything_ else. He finally settled on watching a re-run of _Seinfeld_. The asinine humor wasn't very engaging, but it was something to distract. He'd dozed off by the first commercial break.

As always, the dreams were lying in wait for him.

Kurt lay strapped to a steel table, naked and helpless. He was cold and steel manacles bit into his flesh. An inhibitor collar was locked around his neck with a data extraction cuff grafted to his forearm. He was in the lab of the Beast, adjacent to the mad scientist's infamous pens. Kurt was a prisoner of war and now a test subject.

"Ah, the slippery Darkholme spawn, finally in my labs. I've waited a long time for this." McCoy chuckled nastily, clipboard in hand.

Kurt snarled and struggled futilely against his bonds while a chill dread spread throughout his chest.

"Tsk, tsk. I thought you'd be more articulate than that. No matter, it's not your conversational skills that interest me." He lay down the clipboard and picked up a hand-held computer with a large needle protruding from it. "This may sting a bit." McCoy grinned and pushed the needle into the nerve cluster at Kurt's temple. _Ach! _ The needle set his nerves on fire, lacing his skull with pain. He felt the push of some object being inserted under the skin and bit his lip until it bled.

One of McCoy's assistants produced a burning ink brand then, approaching the table with a blank expression. The creature was another mindless creation, programmed to follow orders. It gripped Kurt's face in one uncompromising hand and pressed the brand firmly over Kurt's left eye. The horror of smelling burning fur and his own cooked flesh washed over him. It was how Beast marked all those he kept in his harvesting pens.

Kurt refused to give the man the satisfaction of a scream, though it was agonizing. He felt his mind triggering a teleport, followed by a scorching shock from the inhibitor collar.

"Now, that was a foolish thing to do. Surely you're intelligent enough to realize that. Do you think I'd allow such a rare opportunity to escape me?"

"Vhat you do to your fellow mutants is an abomination!" Kurt's eye was throbbing and had swollen shut. He wondered if it was blinded.

"What I do is necessary to the progression of science."

McCoy keyed a sequence of buttons on the small computer and Kurt felt a buzzing in his head, near the site of the injection.

"There, all set. With that probe attached so near your brain, I can fully access the functionality of your power of teleportation, and control when and how you use it. Don't worry, I'll adapt your collar as needed." He grinned conversationally, showing pointed, yellowing teeth. "Perhaps with your help, I can glean enough information to create a foot soldier with high mobility and evasive technique beyond compare. Either that or a new breed of guard dog. " McCoy smirked. "_Darkholme hound_ has a nice ring, don't you think? Your mother would be so proud."

"You're going to pay for this, you bastard!"

"Am I? And who's going to collect said payment? Do you really think Lehnsherr's calvary will charge to your rescue?" He leaned down close to Kurt's face, whispering, "they won't. Would you like to know why?" McCoy was in his element now, an insane gleam lighting his pale blue eyes, so out of place in the beastial face. "They think you're dead. It was a childishly simple matter, really. I just cloned a few of your more recognizable body parts and ensured they received the package. I expect you'll get a lovely burial. You're all alone, now."

Kurt glared his hatred. McCoy might well be right. Eric and the others would do DNA analysis on whatever had been sent, and if they determined it was from him...Fear finally started to settle over him. He wasn't afraid to die, but this? Being at the mercy of a madman and treated like an animal for the rest of his life was unthinkable.

"You know, I've really wanted to get my claws on you for a long time, my boy. Such a unique specimen. How often does a man of science get the chance to study a member of _Homo monstrum?_" He smiled. "Fascinating."

"Vhat the hell are you talking about McCoy?"

Beast tapped a pen against his teeth thoughtfully. "Could it really be that you're ignorant of what you are?"

Kurt didn't like where this conversation was going. "I'm a man. A member of _Homo sapiens superior_, the same as any number of others in the vorld."

"Oh, you're certainly that, but that's not all you are. I've yet to collect all the data, but you also appear to be member of the _genii_ – or the Latin _daemon_, if you prefer. You'd be a hybrid of course. I couldn't possibly hope to get a full blooded one as an examination subject," McCoy added wistfully.

"A vhat?"

"A demon. The genetic variety, not the arcane." McCoy waved his hand dismissively, then grinned. "I'll bet you thought it was only skin deep, didn't you? If my hypothesis is correct, you're only half a man, Darkholme. The rest of you is all monster."

"That's asinine!" Kurt spat. What the hell was McCoy going on about? He was no more than a Gamma-level mutant with an unusual appearance.

The cat looked on indifferently as the strange, unpredictable house guest writhed on the couch in his sleep, muttering.

"Is it?" the Beast purred. "You certainly look the part, though I'm hardly one to cast stones, eh?" The man chuckled. "You should be pleased, Darkholme. Just think of the possibilities!"

Kurt heard again the last argument he'd had with Linda, the one that led to him not being home to protect her that fateful day. Her voice had been damning, "The only monster I saw on that tape was _you!"_

_Nein, I'm not a monster! I'm a man like any other!_

The afghan was clutched in his fist and tears seeped from his closed eyes, sliding down his face.

Shrieking across his mind like vengeful ghosts were the accusations of the villagers who'd broken into his childhood home, taking him prisoner and murdering Mausi. "_Du bist der Teufel!_

_Were they right? McCoy called me a demon..._

He remembered the look on Logan's face when he lay there betrayed and poisoned, Kurt's sword to his throat.

_I'm not a monster! _

_Shhh, it's okay. You're okay. You're not a monster, Kurt. Wake up, now. Kurt..._

His eyes flickered open and met Sydney's. "Mausi?"he whispered.

* * *

_Du bist der Teufel! = You are the devil!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

Sydney heard him before she even opened the door. His voice was guttural and filled with pain in his sleep. _"I'm not a monster!"_ she heard him moan. A monster? Maybe it was no surprise that he'd been called that at some point in his life, given his unusual appearance. She'd certainly been called some pretty insulting things, herself. Still, it made her angry on his behalf. When would people learn that mutants loved and hated, laughed or grieved just like anyone else? Or maybe they knew already, and just didn't care. Just look what that renegade X-Man had done recently – all the devastation he'd caused. How will mutants ever be accepted with people like that around, flaming the hatred?

She watched Kurt thrashing within his nightmare. His face contorted in misery, his thin lips pulled into a grimace. The jagged red tattoo stood out vividly against his skin, like an exclamation point to his agony. Tears leaked from the corner of his eye and pooled in his hair, darkening the midnight blue of it to black. His nails bit into the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists. Perhaps it was cold of her, but she'd been on the receiving end of his unpredictable moods and she was hesitant to get close enough to be within his reach. She tried calling his name once, then again, louder. He didn't wake.

Months ago, when he'd shown up in the clinic, she'd found herself drawn to him. Why wouldn't she be? Here, at last, was someone like her. Here was someone who could understand what it felt like to be so different. The fact that he was handsome and charming certainly didn't hinder the impression he'd made on her. If she were willing to admit it, she'd found herself thinking of him often since, day-dreaming of conversations they might have.

Sydney had always had the habit of keeping to herself, aside from work. It was difficult being a mutant living in a world full of normal people, and it seemed that no matter how she might try to fit in, it just wasn't happening. She was on the outside looking in, and there was no changing it. In short, she was lonely. She wanted to know what it felt like to be accepted, completely, and around other people like her. She wanted to know what it was like to not feel stared at, or like she needed to make excuses for the way she'd been born. It was a powerful thing, having just a few moments to taste what life could be like if she didn't feel so alone in the world. When he'd shown up again last week, half dead on her doorstep, she'd worked on him with her heart in her throat. Maybe here was another chance? Then he woke up. To say she'd developed mixed feelings for her surly guest over the past days would be an understatement.

On the one hand, she couldn't help but feel for him. Some of the images she'd picked up, though fleeting and vague, were awful to think about and left her emotions raw. The pain he'd gone through, the brutality he'd suffered – that was only part of it. An image of him sobbing while clutching a photo of a woman to his chest stirred her heart. A girlfriend? A wife? She'd seen a passing memory of him searching corpses, calling for his mother, of him standing over so many graves. Was that why he'd said there was no one to call? Was there really no one left? It made her self-appointed loneliness feel petty.

Other things she'd seen in his mind left her feeling differently. The pleasure he seemed to take in dealing death, his all-encompassing rage, even an image of him licking the blood of an enemy from his lips, his mouth stretched into a grim smile – those things haunted her own dreams. She'd caught a glimpse of that side of him the first evening he regained consciousness, and she'd just as soon not see it again.

Sydney understood anger and misery – of course she did. She'd spent the first half of her life battling between fury at her mother's short-comings and despair that things might never change. She'd been shuffled from place to place, and even spent time in foster care, when Geneva did a six month stint in the state pen. That experience had certainly been fuel for years of being mad with the world – but his kind of uncompromising black and white view of things? That was hard for her to understand.

Kurt moaned again, and she saw a white fang dig into his lip, drawing blood. Compassion became valor and she went to him.

Sydney dropped the groceries and sat on the edge of the couch, brushing the hair back from his face and trying to break through the nightmare. "It's okay, you'll be okay. You're not a monster, Kurt. Wake up now. Kurt..." He opened his eyes and looked at her, whispering something that sounded like "mouse". He was having nightmares about rodents? She caught a strange picture from his mind then, with her fingers brushing against his brow. It was her, only it _wasn't_ her. She was a young woman, perhaps early teens, and it was in no place she recognized. How on earth was he seeing her at that age, anyway?

"You okay?" She kept her voice soft, as if she were talking to a patient just regaining consciousness after a trauma.

He stared at her a long moment, his gaze clouded and vulnerable. He reached out and brushed his hand lightly over her hair. Sydney was surprised by the gentle touch. He seemed to be searching her face, as he had the night at the clinic. His eyes were empty of the anger, and those crimson lights that normally had all the warmth of blood on snow now seemed more like the red embers of a dying fire. She found herself pinned by them like before, but it was no longer an unpleasant feeling. Finally, he answered in an unsteady voice, _"Ja."_

"Good. That was a hum-dinger, wasn't it?"

His face was recovering some of it's control now. "A vhat?"

She grinned. "A hum-dinger – a rough one."

Kurt nodded. "Hum-dingah? My vocabulary expands daily." A tiny smile almost seemed to play at the corner of his mouth for a moment.

She realized she was still running her fingertips through his hair and stopped, embarrassed now. "Sorry."

"For?" He still looked shaky.

"Touching you. I know you don't like it."

He looked at her and one eyebrow finally twitched. "I'll let it slide. This time."

Was that humor? Had the man made something resembling a quip? That _must_ have been a hell of a nightmare.

"Yeah...I should probably pick up the groceries from the floor before Juno decides I put out a buffet." Sydney moved to rise and he caught her hand.

"How do you know?"

"That Juno will get into the groceries? Experience."

He shook his head, his expression serious. "_Nein_. You said I..." he hesitated then continued softly, "that I vasn't a monster. How do you know that?"

She sat back down and peered at his face. "Do you believe you are?"

"That's not vhat I asked."

"Fair enough." She looked down at their clasped hands. "If you are, what does that make me? We're both mutants."

He swallowed. "That's not an answer."

"What kind of answer do you want? It seems to me that 'monster' is a pretty subjective label. To some people, yeah, I guess we probably are monsters. Maybe they don't understand that we have the same feelings and fears they do, to go along with the fancy powers or strange looks." Sydney rubbed her thumb over the fur on the back of his hand. "To me, I think a monster is defined more by actions, and refusing to care how other people might feel." She paused, chewing her lip thoughtfully, then continued. "Maybe monsters don't know how to regret. My mother was a junkie and the drugs turned her into a monster. The only thing she ever felt sorry for was herself. The girl who showed up in my clinic a couple of weeks ago, raped and bloody – I think she probably met up with a monster."

He looked down, tightening his lips. "I've...done some things in my life...things that..." His voice trailed off, then he raised his eyes, a defiant gleam in them. "Do you know vhat I've been through – vhat I've survived?"

"I didn't mean..."

"How could you understand? I've done vhat I _had_ to do!" His grip on her hand had tightened.

She nodded slowly, thinking _is it me you're trying to convince or yourself? _Aloud, she said, "I'm not judging you, Kurt. I think we've all done things in our lives that sometimes make it hard to sleep. Would you do anything differently, if you could go back?"

He closed his eyes tightly, in pain. _"Ja, _but there's no going back._"_

She sighed. "No, I guess not. Only forward."

They both sat in silence for a time. He seemed lost in thought, absently tracing the bumpy, swirled markings on her hand with his fingers. Sydney studied him from under her lashes. He wasn't wearing his usual mask of cold indifference, and she watched the emotion play across his face. Sadness, confusion, frustration – they all appeared, one swallowed by the next. Sydney wondered how long it had been since those mobile features wore a real smile, and if they remembered how.

Finally, he said, "Do you think it's possible to not let the past dictate the future? I do not."

"I'm not sure – yes and no, I guess."

He looked at her then with a sardonically raised eyebrow, though his expression wasn't harsh.

She lifted the corner of her mouth in a half smile and continued, "I mean we're all kind of the sum of what's happened in our lives, right? Some of it we had control over, some not, but it still shapes us."

"_Ja_, that's vhat I meant."

"But that doesn't mean we have to be chained to it, does it? If I went with what I was taught growing up, then I'd be a cold-hearted bitch and wouldn't care about any body but myself. I'd believe that might makes right." She shrugged. "I like to at least _think _I'm a bit better than that."

"So vhy aren't you like that?" He curled his lip in an expression of cynicism. "Do you still go through life vith the notion that every cloud has a silver lining?"

She felt her defenses rise. "No, I just think most people are basically good, when it comes down to it. I don't think anyone sets out to be some awful person, so there's always hope they'll decide to be different. Rather than right or wrong, black or white, it seems most things are more like shades of grey." Sydney thought for a moment, then added, "and I think it's human nature to care about others."

"That's naïve of you," he answered definitively. "I can tell you there is indeed a right or a wrong answer, at least about many things."

"I didn't mean..."

He interrupted her, "People are born self-centered, und vhen push comes to shove, they care only about their own goals. Vhat you vould call a good person, I vould call someone who has included the vell-being of another in his objective."

"That seems kind of jaded. Do you really see people that way?"

"Ja. I've seen too much in my life to view things otherwise. To deny evil exists or believe that these individuals can somehow be redeemed is to act the part of a child, hiding under the covers from the boogie man."

"I didn't say evil doesn't exist," she said, irritated. "I just think people can still change, if they want to."

"Certainly, but it comes down to them vanting to, does it not? Being villing to admit they are wrong und learn to become someone else. You say you define a 'monster' by actions; how many have you known that vere villing to give up their self-centered existence?"

Sydney sighed. He had her there. "I still think they have that choice."

He nodded his acquiescence. "I'll give you that, I just don't think most make that choice."

"Fine." She grinned then, trying to lighten the mood. "You aren't by any chance a lawyer, are you? You debate like one."

"Nein." A flash of humor lit his eyes, then was gone.

"Well, how does a mug of hot tea sound?"

"Good, _danke._"


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

It was Christmas Eve. Kurt got out of the shower and laboriously finished toweling off and dressing. His injuries were healing, but he still moved slowly, like an old man. If this was what it was going to feel like to grow old, perhaps it was preferable to go out in a blaze of glory, while he was still relatively young.

He could hear movement in the kitchen. Sydney must be back. She'd been cooking all morning, apparently still intent on this holiday mummery. There was enough food for ten people, rather than two, though Kurt had to admit it smelled very good. She'd paused in her efforts about an hour ago, claiming she needed to run some last minute errands.

He walked out of the bathroom, limping into the kitchen and was met with a scream.

"AAAAHHHH!" A gaily wrapped Christmas present bounced off his shoulder, followed in short order by a plate of cookies. He ducked, cursing vociferously. An overweight, dark-skinned woman was gaping at him in horror.

"You just stay the hell away from me!" she yelled, backing up until she was stopped by the countertop.

"Calm down, _bitte_, I'm a..."

"Sydney?! Where are you? Girl, there's a devil in your house!" She was reaching behind her, seeking something else to throw. A half full coffee cup bounced off the wall, narrowly missing Kurt's head and showering him with lukewarm liquid.

"Vill you stop it!" He snarled in annoyance. He angled towards her, hoping to intercept before she reached the block of knives. She scuttled to the other side of the kitchen, not turning her back on him.

"Sydney! Help!" The woman looked around frantically and spied the telephone, making a beeline for it. "I'm calling the cops! What have you done with Sydney?!"

"I haven't done anything vith her, und you aren't calling anyone!" He shouted back, his meager patience long gone.

She started to dial and he teleported across the room, snatching the phone cord from the wall. _'Porting was probably a mistake,_ he thought, as his vision swam. He wondered idly if he would seem less menacing after he vomited on her. She shrieked even louder, and shoved past him. Kurt caught his balance, barely. He was really in no shape for something like this. When he turned to face her, she was brandishing a broom.

"You better start tellin' me what you've done with Sydney, if you know what's good for you!" She held it like a baseball bat, and her face was set into lines of grim determination.

_Oh this is priceless,_ Kurt thought. _Just what I need. _"I mean you no harm, if you vill just calm yourself, _Fräulein..." _He held up his hand in what he hoped would be construed as a gesture of peace, and visualized strangling the wretch just to shut her up. He walked slowly forward. If he could just get close enough, he could disarm her.

"Sydney stepped out for a bit, but I'm certain she'll..." He was cut off by the _whoosh_ of the broom, barely missing his nose. "Enough!" He roared, grabbing it on her next upswing and using it to pull her forward. "I said I vasn't going to hurt you!" He growled, his lips curled back.

"GAAH!" She abruptly let go of her weapon and caught him in the groin with her knee – a blow he only managed to partially deflect. Then she turned and ran for the front door. She opened it and collided with Sydney, bags flying everywhere.

Kurt observed all this with detachment from his fetal position on the linoleum. Oh, how he had fallen. The mighty Nightcrawler, KO'd by a plump, middle-aged harridan wielding a cleaning implement. If Wade were here, there would be no living it down.

"You're alive!" The woman stammered, grasping Sydney in a bear hug that threatened to squeeze the life from her.

"Of course I'm alive! Bev, what the hell's going on?!" Sydney's eyes fell on Kurt and she looked back at her friend accusingly. "What did you do to him?"

"What did _I _do to _him?_" Beverly asked in disbelief. "That monster was gonna eat me!"

"He's no monster!" Sydney snapped, her black eyes flashing. "And he most assuredly was not going to eat you."

Sydney disengaged herself from the embrace to kneel on the floor and help him up.

The other woman continued to look at them with astonishment. "What have you gotten yourself into this time? Are you crazy, letting somebody like that up in your house?"

"Somebody like _what?" _Sydney looked up at her friend slowly, her mouth a thin line.

Beverly shifted, uncomfortable. "Look, we been friends for years, but I'm not blind and neither are you! Don't you watch the news? Those people are dangerous!"

"I'm one of 'those people', Bev, or hadn't you noticed?"

_Ah, there's the fire I remember, _Kurt mused. _I wondered if she still had it in her._

"But you aren't like the rest of them, you're...different." Beverly's voice trailed off as she seemed to realize how she sounded.

For her part, Sydney ignored the woman and got Kurt a bag of frozen peas and a towel. "Here, for the swelling."

He gingerly applied the make-shift ice pack and sighed.

"Look, I just came by to check on you, and wish you a Merry Christmas." Beverly gestured to the now dented gift. "It's not like you, to miss so much work, and I was worried. I'm sorry for all the drama." She adjusted her coat meticulously and with great dignity. "Those _were_ some of my homemade chocolate chip cookies, you like so much." She nodded towards the broken mess of crumbs all over the floor.

Sydney regarded her, then smiled faintly, running a hand back through her hair. "It's alright. Here, I've got something for you, too." She retrieved a small package from under the tree and handed it over. "Just..." She shrugged then, dismissively. "Happy Christmas, Bev. I'll see you back at work on Wednesday."

Beverly left without further comment, and Sydney set to work cleaning up the mess. She was uncommonly quiet, and her normal cheerful good humor was gone. Its absence felt like a void in the room. Kurt watched her, wondering what strangers saw when they looked at her.

To someone who didn't know better, the rust colored markings on her skin might look like some invasive skin disease running rampant. That's certainly how he'd seen them when he was a child. They were all over her body, mottled together more heavily in some places than others. They were fairly prominent around her hairline and down the sides of her neck, but only ventured out in tendrils on her face. He could recall the discolorations had been thicker along her shoulders and down her spine, but were more like branches or maybe strange veins on her arms and legs. There had been a star burst cluster of them around her navel and Kurt found himself wanting to see if it was still there.

The markings were raised, though didn't feel rough – more like something moving just under the surface of the skin. He found them fascinating to look at, even now, and fancied that they seemed to shift and change. When she used her powers and the light moved within, changing them to an amber gold, they were beautiful.

Sydney had prominent cheekbones and a sharp chin, with full lips and a rounded nose. Her eyes were the most dominant feature of her face, being wide-set and dark. She wore her hair long and generally pulled back into a clip or hair band, tight curls escaping to frame her face. She was petite in height but proportioned with full curves. That skinny, frail-looking little girl he'd known had lived to grow into an attractive woman in this world.

She looked up, hair in disarray around her face, and asked. "Do you feel better?"

"_Ja,_ I do." He looked away, ruffled at being caught staring.

"I'm sorry about that. Bev's not a bad person, she just..."

"You don't have to apologize for her." He interrupted. "I'm accustomed to that sort of reaction from strangers."

Sydney looked downcast. "Yeah."

"Dinner smells lovely. Shall ve eat soon?"

"Sure, about twenty minutes and it should be done."

"Good."

She finished sweeping up the last of the cookies and dumped them in the bin.

"Vould you like to talk about it?" Kurt finally asked.

"I'm not sure what there is to talk about."

"I vould assume you veren't expecting that sort of reaction from her, towards another mutant?"

Sydney lifted one shoulder vaguely. "She and I have been friends for a long time. I guess I always thought she was pretty open-minded about the subject."

"It's far easier to be open-minded from a distance, _ja?"_

She didn't reply.

Kurt sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "People are often afraid of vhat they don't understand."

"I know."

"Perhaps it's easy to be lulled into a false sense of security, vhen you see someone on a daily basis." That made him remember Linda, and something inside him flinched. "As you said yourself, it's a choice. Just because she doesn't understand now, doesn't mean she von't one day learn to, on some level, or at least learn to accept." Did his words sound more convincing than they felt? He hoped so.

Sydney smiled half-heartedly. "You don't have to try and make me feel better. I've lived with this all my life, the same as you."

"I vasn't," he protested. Had he been? Uncomfortable, he changed tactics. "Is that vhy you close yourself off from the vorld, here? Your co-vorker is the first person I've noticed you speaking to this veek, other than myself."

"I'm not closed off from the world! I talk to people all the time at work." She crossed her arms, leaning her hip against the table.

"_Ja_, at vork, but never here, or did you call off your normal parties because of my presence?" He looked at her archly, already guessing the answer.

"So I like my quiet, sue me," she replied defensively.

"Perhaps you're afraid that other people secretly harbor the same opinions as your friend – that mutants, and therefore you, are some exotic, potentially dangerous species not to be trusted? Or is being a mutant your excuse to avoid the risk of getting too close?"

"Look, just because you resent people breathing the same air as you doesn't mean I do, okay?" Sydney continued huffily, "besides, why would I want to surround myself with people waiting for me to do something weird or go out with some guy who only wants to play connect the dots?" She put on an expression of indifference. "I don't need the hassle."

"Veren't you the one who said most people vere inherently good?"

"Being a decent person and having an accepting mind are two different things."

"Are they? I vould think they go hand in hand."

She put her hand on her hip. "So you're saying because I don't surround myself with people in my personal life, I'm being a hypocrite?"

"Aren't you? How do you know most people are good if you never actually get to know anyone?"

"I _am_ getting to know someone – you."

"_Ach_, und I'm a stellar example of 'most people,' _ja?_" Kurt raised both eyebrows in mock astonishment.

"It's a start." She grinned then.

"I suppose."

"Are your blueberries sufficiently chilled enough so they don't hurt anymore?"

"My _vhat?_" he asked with an indignant look.

Sydney chuckled then, her humor apparently restored.

* * *

The dinner tasted as good as it had smelled cooking. It was years since he'd had the opportunity to eat so much in one sitting, and Kurt felt decidedly over stuffed when they finished. They both retired to the couch in the time honored tradition of holiday laziness and pending indigestion.

Sydney shyly handed him a small, brightly wrapped package. "I know you said not to, but it's Christmas..." she blushed. "It's uhm...well, there's kind of a story behind it, you know, a reason I got it, but I'll tell you after you open it."

Kurt sighed. He really wished she hadn't gone to the trouble. It made him feel vaguely guilty about being such an ass about the holiday, and that was annoying. Still, it had been years since he'd received any kind of gift...he unwrapped it with some small pleasure. It was a plain silver neck chain. He held it up to the light. The links were fashioned to look like a normal chain one might use to tow something, or attach an anchor. To him, it seemed an odd choice of gift, but he'd been raised to be polite. "_Danke,_ Sydney. I've never owned anything quite like it." Did she really expect him to wear a piece of jewelry? He hadn't even worn a wedding ring when he was married, not that he had the fingers for it.

She looked miserably embarrassed now, after seeing his reaction. "Yeah, I guess it's kind of a weird present, isn't it? You don't have to wear it or anything, it's more of a symbolic thing." She shifted on the couch and sat cross-legged, her hair hanging down to partially obscure her face. "You know, we were talking the other day about the past, and how it's kind of chained to who we are, or who we might be in the future. Anyway, I gave it to you so you could decide for yourself what you wanted to be chained to. It seems a bit silly now." She chuckled self-consciously.

Kurt looked at the necklace coiled innocently in his hand. If it were only so easy.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

The only thing the new year rang in for Kurt was a sense of growing frustration. He was feeling much better now, his wounds having almost fully healed, but he found himself in an untenable position. With his betrayal, he'd alienated his contacts with the X-Men of this world and in doing so lost his temporary lodgings. More importantly, he'd lost access to his route home. Gateway was dead, but he was certain they must have other options.

Now that his mind was clear, he could recall more of what Mystique had said to him. She'd indeed wanted him to stay – he didn't imagine that. She told him she was forming a group of mutant freedom fighters, and she wanted him to be by her side. Raven claimed she'd never been given the opportunity to form a close relationship with her own son – a man she readily admitted had been too gentle in nature for her to understand. She wanted the chance to rectify that void in her life with him, at least judging by her statements. Kurt wasn't sure how much of it he believed. His own mother hadn't been one to eschew emotional manipulation when it suited her purposes. From what little he'd seen of Raven's activities in this world, he wasn't certain he wanted any part of them, either. In the end, it was a moot point because he had no intention of staying.

Fevered delirium had brought him to Sydney's doorstep, and here he remained. Where else did he have to go?

Sydney had since reclaimed her bedroom and he was left bunking on the couch, but she hadn't yet said anything to imply he should leave. It was probably only a matter of time, though. Surprisingly, the thought that she might want him to go was bothersome. They'd developed a comfortable routine. Too comfortable, at times. He found himself occasionally forgetting that this world wasn't the reality. It would be all too easy to imagine this was his Sydney, so long trapped in his memory as a young innocent girl, but now grown to adulthood. She wasn't, dammit! Home was reality. This was only some distorted reflection, no better than a dream.

He flipped on the afternoon news, swallowing his irritation. His housemate would be at work until five, and the apartment was still quiet.

"_We've had a confirmed report from the Avenger's Head Quarters that Captain America has indeed formed a new task group, to address the growing mutant concern. His statements from yesterday's interview lead us to believe that this group will be concerned with the protection of mutants, not the apprehension of them. Can you believe that Joe?"_

At this point, the announcer turned to his ruddy complexioned companion, who answered with forced joviality, _"No, Pete, I certainly can't. What do they have to worry about from us?" _The camera returned to focus on the first speaker again, and background footage was shown behind him of the new team in action. Kurt spied Logan in the group. So he'd survived. It wasn't really a surprise; the man was notoriously hard to kill.

A faint relief of the guilt Kurt hadn't realized he felt did battle with a more personal concern. Would Logan be hunting him? It was likely. Logan, in any world, wasn't one to let a slight go unpunished. What Kurt had done to the man was regrettable, but necessary. However, it also marked him as a traitor and he would be dealt with as such. Then again, if Logan considered dealing with him to be a priority, he would've probably shown up by now. Was it really possible that, by choosing such an obscure place to recover, Kurt had remained under the radar? Wolverine was the best there was at what he did, after all, and what he did was hunt and, of course, kill.

Kurt picked at the tweed fabric of the sofa with a fingernail, pondering it. Perhaps Logan viewed him as effectively neutralized for the moment, and not a pressing concern. He had to know how limited Kurt's options were. It might be assumed he was still with Mystique, if anything. If the news reports were to be believed, maybe the man just had his hands full, right now. Kurt had little doubt that the temperamental fellow would start the hunt eventually, though.

Was he endangering Sydney by remaining here? He squelched the uneasy notion. Probably not. If Logan was continuing to try and pass himself off as one of the good guys, fighting for humanity, he wasn't likely to go about hacking up innocent citizenry. In all, Kurt thought he was less likely to attract unwanted attention if he remained where he was, under the guise of living a quiet life. He decided to stay, at least until he had a clearer idea of how to get home. In the meantime, he just needed to ensure that Sydney developed no contrary ideas. That should be easy enough to accomplish.

* * *

Sydney was exhausted. Today had been plain awful. Not only had the clinic been swamped with the normal cases, always worse during the winter months, but this afternoon they'd been inundated with the victims of a gang conflict. At least fifteen kids had shown up, beaten and bloody, and carrying on about retaliation. It was all she and the other nurses could do to keep the fight from picking back up in the waiting room. That kind of mess and violence, and it was over who had the right to stand on a street corner. Just a bit of pavement. Sydney didn't get it.

All she wanted now was to soak in a hot bath, then put her feet up for the rest of the evening. She hoped Kurt wasn't in one of his argumentative, debating moods; she really didn't have the stamina to deal with it tonight.

The first thing to catch her attention was the smell of food when she opened the front door. Kurt cooked? Sydney took in the already tidied apartment, and a table set with dinner and wondered if she was in the right place.

"_Guten Abend." _He smiled at her from in front of the stove.

She looked at him quizzically. "Hi yourself. What's all this?"

"I thought you might be hungry."

"Yeah, definitely." She gave him a bemused smile. "You didn't tell me you could cook."

"You never asked. Though, I admit, it's not much."

Sydney eyed the simple meal, one she didn't have to take the trouble to prepare, for once. "It looks great." She collapsed in a kitchen chair and looked at him. What was this about?

"Is it not good?" He regarded her hesitation.

"Oh, no, it's perfect."

"I'm glad. So how vas vork?"

"Fine, I guess. Had to deal with gangbangers." she answered slowly. This was getting stranger by the minute. He'd never expressed much concern about what she did outside the house.

"Gangbangahs? You mean children in street gangs? Vhat did they do?" He looked at her with apparent interest. "I vould venture to guess it vasn't good."

Sydney's brows knitted together in confusion. Was it a full moon tonight or something? "No, it wasn't good. They tried to kill each other over a bit of concrete and a sign post, the same as always."

"That seems foolish."

"Yeah..."

"Vould you care for a glass of vine? I found some in the cupboard, I hope you don't mind."

She propped her chin on her hand and stared hard at him. "Sure, and no, I don't mind." She sipped at it, trying to figure out what she was missing. Finally, she blurted out, "Did I miss something? I mean not that I mind all this..."

Kurt wore a small smile, seemingly amused with her discomfiture. "Can't I be nice?"

"Sure, it's just you..." her voice trailed off.

"Normally don't bother." he finished for her.

She shrugged, grinning sheepishly at him. "It's a nice surprise."

"I realized how ungrateful I must seem. You quite literally saved my life und have taken me in vhen no one else vould. I simply vanted to show my appreciation." He raised his glass in a small salute.

"Thanks." Her heart was warmed by his words and she blushed. Who was this guy?

The rest of the evening was equally as pleasant, and,what's more, Kurt's behavior didn't seem to be a one-time fluke. The following week or so showed her an entirely new side to him. His moodiness wasn't completely gone – he still had irascible moments – but she also got to see a man who was deeply introspective, intelligent, astutely observant and had a dry wit that always managed to make her smile. In short, she was really learning to enjoy his company. When he mentioned, in passing, that he found her an agreeable roommate, she was inordinately pleased that he thought so. She found herself looking forward to having someone to come home to for the first time in her life.

A Friday evening in mid January had them sitting side by side on the sofa, watching the end of _Wuthering Heights. _

"I still think Heathcliff would've made Catherine happy."

"_Nein,_ Heathcliff was an ass, she vould have been miserable. Und, she vould have died anyvay."

"No, she wouldn't. She died of a broken heart." Sydney asserted, enjoying their friendly debate. "Catherine was no angel herself, if you read the novel. She ran all over Edgar"

Kurt grinned. "She vas spirited, true, but Heathcliff vas more in love vith the idea of her, rather than the voman."

"Wrong. They were two of a kind. Soul mates."

"Do you believe in such things?"

Sydney pushed her unruly hair back from her face thoughtfully. "Sure, why not? Why shouldn't there be another person out there who really touches you on a soul level?" She smiled, feeling embarrassed, before she qualified the statement. "It's a nice idea. It makes the world feel less harsh or something." She blushed under his intent gaze.

"There are rarely happy endings und the vorld _is_ harsh." In barely more than a whisper he added, "You're very beautiful vhen you do that."

"Do what?"

"Blush like a school girl. It's _entzückend_ – enchanting."

Sydney was at a loss on how to respond. If she was blushing before, her face was on fire now. This situation had the blurry quality of a dream.

He chuckled softly and reached over to run his thumb along the edge of her jaw, leaning forward. She could feel his breath on her face as he whispered, "_Ja,_ like that." His lips brushed against hers in the lightest of kisses. An electric shock coursed through her body, making every nerve ending hum. He paused to gaze at her, still caressing her face. The glint of his eyes changed subtly, becoming more acute and almost predatory. Her lips were still tingling from his kiss and she found she desperately wanted another. She lifted her face to him, willing it to happen.

Kurt smiled faintly then. She saw a brief glimmer of a fang, then his mouth captured hers again. This kiss was more insistent; it grew demanding and felt almost hungry. She couldn't help but respond to it with a hunger of her own. All of her life, she'd kept herself closed off from things like this, protected herself from it. If her own mother rejected her and her mutation, what would the rest of the world do? She'd never known what it was to be touched this way, to feel this kind of rising passion. This was something that happened to other women, not her. Her heart banged in her chest, reverberating. She felt her control weakening, the dam of feelings inside pushing to be released.

His arms encircled her, his weight pressing her back on the couch. He caressed her body, first almost languidly, then more urgently. His hands were hard, wiry with suppressed strength, yet covered with the softest of fur – like velvet on steel. They weren't gentle hands. It was an intoxicating contradiction of sensations. When he slid them underneath her blouse and touched her skin, it felt as though he left a burning trail. She reeled from it, pressing against his palm. He squeezed and kneaded her flesh roughly, his breathing quickened. The television sounded far off – some distant thing. She felt his tail coil around her calf, squeezing.

Challenge radiated from him when he looked at her from under lowered lids, his eyes glowing vermilion. Deliberately, he unfastened the first button of her blouse, never letting go of her gaze. His lips curled up cynically in one corner. The pulse was throbbing in his neck. She kissed him then, finally allowing herself the full freedom of giving herself up to this. He growled low in his throat and she felt the rest of the buttons of her blouse give way, scattered in his impatience. Her jeans followed quickly. The air hitting her bare skin did nothing to cool her blood, and she pulled at his clothes, needing to see him and to touch.

His eyes were feral as they took in her nakedness. He blazed a trail with his hands, followed by his burning mouth and Sydney gasped, writhing. She started to explore his body in turn, free to openly touch him at last. She imagined this was what a panther might feel like to touch. He had the same wild beauty, and he was indeed, beautiful. His scars only enhanced, in her eyes, giving a sense of reality to a man who was otherwise surreal. Finally, he groaned and pinned her hands above her. His teeth grazed her jaw, sending shivers across her skin, and she retaliated by catching the lobe of his ear between her lips. He made a sound between a growl and a moan.

Sydney felt as though she were riding some incredible roller coaster of sensation. The feel of his skin against hers was not only erotic, it also spawned a myriad of chaotic flickering images, too primal to have any real clarity. It was all raw emotion. She felt his relentless, uncompromising need, not to be denied. Her own matched it. There was the sense of anguished frustration, primitive and impatient in its desire to join together in that ancient dance. Beneath that, she felt the hollow that was him, always before filled with barely suppressed anger, filling now with something else. Desire. An aching hunger for life and touch that drowned out everything.

The musky scent of his skin was an aphrodisiac and dizzying. She couldn't get close enough and struggled to free her hands. She moved against him, biting gently at his neck and shoulders. He moaned and covered her mouth again with his own. She felt it when his almost inhuman self-control finally gave way. It flitted across her consciousness like a gossamer spider web, leaving the truth of him in its wake. His kiss devoured her, hard and punishing. She could taste blood and didn't care in the least. This was an unstoppable tide that they both had to ride out.

By the time his body covered hers completely, she was in a fever, quivering with need. She felt him coiled like a spring, his muscles rolling tensely beneath his fur. The pain was fleeting, and nothing compared to the sensation of being impaled, being filled by him, then feeling the instinctive rhythm of his movements. She wrapped her legs around his hips and lost herself, rising to the heights again and again before he gave a guttural cry and collapsed on her, trembling, his face buried against her neck.

Sydney brushed her fingers through his hair and marveled at the awakening of her heart as well as her body. The revisits to their passion that night were no less ardent. Finally, she fell asleep wrapped in his arms.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight_

_Well, that was rather unexpected,_ Kurt mused. He lay on his side, his head propped up. Sydney curled in his arms with her face nuzzled against his chest. His deliberate change in behavior over the past weeks had been intended to express gratitude, flatter her a bit, and to show her he could be an agreeable companion if he chose. He wanted to give her incentive to allow him to stay awhile longer, but he hadn't planned on taking her to bed! The kiss, impulsively given to soften his comment on the world's harshness, had ignited something within him, something that had been dormant for a long time. The flames had quickly burned out of control.

Kurt was a passionate man, he always had been. He was someone of excesses and couldn't feel anything in half measures. When Linda died, his passion had changed into an ugly thing, a raging tide of anger and bitterness, bent on revenge. The man had been lost in that and buried, until Kurt had almost forgotten it was even there. Truthfully, he'd wanted to forget. It made his continuing existence easier. The soft feel of Sydney's lips against his own had awakened the man again, with all his human craving for life and intimacy. Simple human touch. The feel of his skin against someone else's, his heart beating the same rhythm – it had been overwhelming, and almost more than he could bear. This woman wasn't a cold, grief-filled memory, she was vibrantly warm and alive.

She slept soundly now, her breathing soft and regular. He watched her, letting his fingertips roam over her bare skin. Her lashes made shadows on her cheeks, and her lips were parted, still rosy from his kisses. Tangled black hair lay in a pool behind her, and her arm was draped over his side. Even in sleep, she held fast to him. She'd been an innocent, but had opened to his touch like a blossom opening in the sunlight. What the hell was he doing? What right did he have to this?

He inhaled deeply, fixing the scent of her in his mind. The memories it had once evoked from his childhood were being overlaid by the here and now.

Kurt was so tired of fighting. All of his adult life, it seemed, had been nothing but struggle and grief. He wanted an end to it, a rest. He wanted to be just a man – not an X-Man, not a freedom-fighter, not a mutant soldier or a monster bent on avenging the fallen – only a man. Was that really so wrong? Wasn't he entitled to another chance at life, after all he'd been through?

He sighed, laying down his head and pulling Sydney closer. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her and felt her brush his chest with a kiss, murmuring softly but not waking. Maybe, just for a little while, he could keep this. He closed his eyes.

The dream encroached on his mind with all the subtlety of a dagger between the ribs.

Once again, he was surrounded by death and hopelessness. The stench of decay and scorched flesh clogged his nostrils and the sounds of battle closed in. Rahne broke from her cover, behind a mass of fallen debris from the mansion, and ran towards him. She looked as if she were about to shout out as a sentinel came into view behind her. He saw the young girl crushed underneath its foot like an insect, her blood soaking into the already saturated earth.

With the rise of a new Apocalypse, the X-Men had fallen under attack. The assault was methodical and absolute. Who was left? Kurt had no idea. The mansion had erupted in a series of explosions during the pre-dawn. His home was nothing more than rubble. He kept on the move, hoping he could out distance his adversaries, and perhaps draw them away from the others.

He heard the sound of shouting and saw Jean telekinetically dismantle one of the massive killing machines, yelling encouragement to someone behind her. LeBeau ducked from his hiding place, carrying an apparently wounded Jubilee. Good, there were others! There were still three sentinels left, however. Odds weren't in their favor.

He spied Sabretooth in the distance, ripping his way through one, Wild Child ever at his back. They didn't seem to be making much progress, but they at least had the machine's attention diverted while Bobby – rather his avatars – positioned for an attack from behind. Kurt decided to try and make his way there. Victor and Kyle would need to get out of range fast, if they were to survive. A concussive blast clipped his side as he teleported, knocking him senseless. The world seemed to spin. _Where...?_ A massive shadow fell over him, the cold visor lights fixed. Kurt saw his death. He watched it, hypnotized. A frozen lance exploded against the thing, ice fragments raining down over him.

"Get the hell out of there, Kurt!" Bobby yelled, sending another bevy of blasts towards the sentinel, staggering it back. They took their toll, and the thing slowed, then finally stopped, it's circuitry frozen and useless.

"_Danke, mein Freund! _That vas timely!"

Two left. They might make it, after all. He was just beginning to nurture some hope when he noticed a deployment craft filling the sky. _Ach, nein!_ More sentinels than he could easily count rocketed down on them, all bent on the same purpose, to eradicate the X-Men. This was the end, then. Fiery chaos exploded around him and the dream shifted.

He stood in a dense fog, unable to see beyond a few feet in front of him. Cold shadows writhed around him, brushing his skin with clammy, insubstantial fingertips. They chuckled and gibbered, seeming to take nourishment from his fear. "Get avay from me!" He lashed out with his sword, cutting through only air.

"Do you really want me to?" a ghostly voice asked, and he saw a woman walk towards him, her face obscured. He'd know her anywhere.

"I thought you missed me." Linda looked up then, half of her face eaten away. The other half wore a mischievous smile.

"Linda!" He choked, backing away from the sight of his ravaged wife. He bumped into someone behind him and felt hands grasp his shoulders. He turned and beheld Bobby, partially melted and grinning.

"Hey buddy, we missed you! Long time, no see."

"Stay avay from me!" Kurt stammered.

"But we're your family, darling." Raven stepped from the mist, a scorched and blackened thing, holding out her arms for an embrace.

"Even if you've forgotten us, we still remember you." Linda crooned, caressing his face.

"I haven't forgotten anything!" Kurt shrieked, near hysteria.

Bobby winked, his ruined face making a clicking noise as he did so. "Haven't you? That fine little sweetheart in the bed next to you says otherwise."

"Never! She's just..."

"Hey, I don't blame you, man. I mean, enough is enough, right? You're owed some TLC. I thought the same thing. At least until you killed me for it." The chuckle sounded like breaking ice. "Who cares what happens to the rest of them? You've done your part."

"Of...of course I care! I vas going back!" He babbled, pleading for understanding. "I am! I'm going back! I svear it!"

"See? I told you he would never abandon us." Linda smiled triumphantly, her tattered nightgown fluttering open in the breeze to reveal a gaping hole where her left breast had been.

"_Nein!_ Of course I vouldn't!"

"We'll hold you to your word." His mother kissed him then, her charred lips leaving a residue on his cheek.

"Yeah buddy, if you turn traitor on _us,_ you won't have to worry about Wolverine any more." Bobby, smiled, his corpse-light eyes burning.

He saw the wedding ring glint on Linda's finger as she brushed the hair back from his brow. She leaned in to kiss him and he watched an insect wormed its way from her empty eye socket. "I'll be waiting, lover. Don't disappoint me again."

Kurt awoke in a sweat, smothering a scream with his fist. His heart raced.

Sydney sat up next to him, her arms encircling his shoulders. "It's all right...shhh. It's okay." She looked at him with compassion filled eyes. They looked like bottomless wells in the darkness.

"_Nein,"_ he whispered, haunted. "It vill never be okay."

He spent the rest of the night holding her close, refusing to allow himself to fall asleep. He watched the shadows of the moon move across the ceiling, to be replaced by the first light of dawn. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't leave them behind like that.

* * *

It was Saturday morning and Kurt ate his breakfast silently, guilt ridden, while Sydney smiled and talked of everyday things. She still seemed to glow with the aftermath of their love-making.

"I'll clean out some space in the closet for you today, so you have a place for your things."

"That's unnecessary."

"Well you have to put them somewhere. They can't keep living in that pile in the corner." She grinned playfully. "If there's anything you'd like to change, you know, about the décor to make it suit you more, let me know. I'm pretty open to new ideas."

"There's nothing..."

She interrupted, "I know this place isn't much, but it's home."

"_Nein,_ it's not." Kurt forced out through gritted teeth.

Sydney looked at him then, confusion battling with hurt in her expression. "I don't understand. You said yourself that you had no where else to go."

He dropped his head, and shook it slowly. How the hell could he explain to her that he was from another reality, trapped in her world? Sydney lived a normal life, with normal people. She had no experience with the insanity that was the life of an X-Man. She'd think he'd lost his mind.

Finally, he answered with a cold, sardonic smile. "I don't know how to answer that vithout having you believe me mentally ill, or at best, irrational."

"Does it have anything to do with what I saw in your mind – myself, as a little girl, in some place I've never seen?" Sydney's voice was low and trembled.

Kurt's smile faded and he looked away quickly. She never hinted at anything like this! She'd claimed to see only vagaries of a 'rough place', implying what she saw with her powers was unclear and irrelevant. Irrelevant, indeed! His jaw twitched and he fought to regain control of his face. What _had_ she seen? What did this woman know of him? Could she be trusted to keep it to herself? He took a deep breath. She'd said she didn't judge him. Odds were, if she was going to do something, she'd have done it by now. It was either trust that or deal with her before he left. Kurt rubbed his hands roughly together. How much blood had covered them in his life? He looked at her from the corner of his eye. Never! He wouldn't add her blood to it. He hadn't fallen that far, yet.

"Well, does it?" She reached across the table to take his hand and he snatched it away. Damn if she was touching him again, though!

"Vhat the hell do I know about vhat you see or don't see in your mind?" He replied in a nasty tone, his expression now a mask. He had to get out of here fast.

She closed her fingers into a fist, digging fingernails into her palm. He looked at the tiny half moons forming.

"Kurt, after last night and then the past couple of weeks..."

He cut her off. "You thought I vould be content in domestic bliss? You vere mistaken." He found he couldn't look her in the eye.

"Mistaken?" She asked, softly.

"Ja." Kurt continued relentlessly, in a conversational tone. _Finish this, man! _"Vhile I appreciate your care during my extended illness, und certainly found our activities of last night highly enjoyable, I'm afraid I have business to attend to." _Will she get it now?_

Sydney sat back with her arms crossed, clearly fighting back tears. She won, at least temporarily. Kurt swallowed a lump in his throat. _Bitte, let her not cry,_ he thought.

"So thanks for the TLC the bunk and the fuck, have a nice life – is that how it goes?"

"Something like that." He nodded. It would be easier if she got angry.

"Dammit!" She swore softly. "Damn you for being a heartless bastard!" She shook her head then, the tears finally falling.

It was all Kurt could do to not take her in his arms. How did he get himself into this situation? He had no right to her, nor anything else in this world! He ground his molars together. It was better this way. He didn't belong here, in this dream place, and she was better off without him. That thought echoed through his mind, and he recalled when he'd believed it before. He closed his eyes. _No! This is different!_

When he opened them again, his mask was in place. Smiling thinly, he said, "I suppose this answers the question regarding vhether or not I am a monster, at least by your definition, _nicht wahr?_ "I do not belong here, Sydney." It was stated firmly, definitively.

Her voice was hollow when she answered. "You belong where you decide you belong."

"I vish it vere so easy." _She has no idea what she's talking about._

"It's as easy as you let it be." Sydney shook her head, appearing to battle with her emotions. "Where will you go?" Her heart was in her eyes when she asked.

"Home." _Home to die, home to live, what does it matter? _The thought came like a whisper in his mind.

* * *

Sydney sat in silence, the apartment cold and feeling emptier than it ever had before. It had been three weeks since Kurt walked out the door, yet the ache was still as fresh as if it had been yesterday. Would she ever stop hurting? The pain was acute, a sharp jagged thing in her heart. She'd been lonely for years, but loneliness had never felt like this before. It was far better to have never known what she was missing.

The anger was better, and she had that in abundance. She was seething, furious. How could he be so cold, after the time they'd spent together? Had he felt nothing at all? Why deny what she'd seen for herself in his mind? Maybe he _was_ a monster, incapable of caring about anyone but himself. How could she be so naïve?

A knock at the front door broke her reverie. She swallowed her rage and went to answer it, not much interested in who it could be.

A short, stocky man stood there wearing a denim coat and a Stetson. He cut his eyes behind her and his nostrils flared briefly. "Sorry ta disturb ya, ma'am, but I was wonderin' if ya might help me out. Do ya have a few minutes?"

Sydney nodded and stepped aside reluctantly so he could enter. "I suppose, Mr...?"

His hesitation was barely perceptible. "Name's James."

"Would you like a cup of coffee, James?" She was coolly polite.

"That'd be nice."

She noticed he continued to look around unobtrusively, his grey eyes seeming to take in everything. Nosy fellow, wasn't he? She hoped he wouldn't stay long. He reeked of cigars.

"What can I help you with?"

"I'm lookin' fer someone. Thought he might o' showed up here. His name's Kurt."

"Oh?" Something like ice ran down Sydney's back, and she was immediately put on her guard. A mask dropped over her expression.

"Is he a friend of yours?" She asked casually, allowing her finger to brush the man's hand as she gave him his coffee.

"Yup."

An image flickered in her mind. Two Kurts, one smiling, the other threatening. She didn't know what to make of it, but she sensed he was lying about being a friend. What had she gotten herself into?

"What made you think he could be here?" She sat down opposite, her face a studied blank as she caught and held his gaze.

"Just got word he might be." The man took a swallow of his coffee, eyeing her over the top of the mug.

"I'm afraid I can't help you. Sorry." She smiled vaguely, offering nothing.

He looked at her hard, then, apparently waging some internal debate. "All right, he ain't a friend. He's..." The man sighed then, and fished something out of his pocket – an ID card and a photo of Kurt. "This is him. Look lady, I'm with the Avengers an' this guy is bad news, I'm tellin' ya. I ain't sure what he's capable of, but I can tell ya, with what I seen, he can be a pretty cold-hearted monster. Just don't want ya getting' yerself hurt."

Sydney bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood to keep from reacting to Kurt's image. She examined the credentials and the picture with a flat expression, then handed them back. Her heart twisted in on itself as she remembered Kurt's nightmares, the scars, how it felt to lie in his arms. "I'm sorry, I don't know anyone like that."

* * *

_I want love to: roll me over slowly,*  
Stick a knife inside me, and twist it all around.  
I want love to: grab my fingers gently,  
Slam them in a doorway, Put my face into the ground.  
I want love to: murder my own mother,  
Take her off to somewhere, like hell, or up above.  
And I want love to: change my friends to enemies,  
Change my friends to enemies, and show me how it's all my fault._

_And I won't let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me_  
_I won't let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me_  
_Yeah I won't let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me, anymore._

_I want love to: walk right up and bite me,_  
_Grab a hold of me and fight me, leave me dying on the ground._  
_I want love to: split my mouth wide open,_  
_And cover up my ears and never let me hear a sound_  
_I want love to: forget that you offended me,_  
_Or how you have defended me when everybody tore me down_  
_Yeah and I want love to: change my friends to enemies,_  
_Change my friends to enemies, and show me how it's all my fault._

_Yeah I won't let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me_  
_I won't let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me_  
_Yeah I won't let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me, anymore._

* * *

_This is from a great little song by Jack White called, Love Interruption._


End file.
